Pieces Of Me
by just drifting
Summary: River goes on a journey with the Doctor to discover distant worlds--and, ultimately, herself. Written for the multifandom crossover exchange on livejournal


There are numbers. Whole strings of them, rushing through your head like rain. They run and jump and dance; jovial, happy. They make no sense in their euphoria, but that's alright, you don't need them to. When you do, they'll come together in neat little patterns, all ready and waiting (well, once you've straightened them out and told them to behave, but you quite enjoy doing that).

There's a man who keeps looking at you. He's on your ship (Serenity; she became yours the day you met her, she smiled and said hello and welcomed you like no other ever had), though you're not quite sure how he got there. No one else seems to mind him, though, and there's a nice yellow aura around him, so you don't much mind. He follows you, where you go, like a lost puppy. But you've always liked puppies. You used to have one, when you were a child. It ran away, or you lost it, you're not quite sure, can't quite remember. But then again, maybe we're all lost puppies, just drifting along.

The man wears a suit and shoes that aren't at all suited to this kind of life. But then, maybe he's not part of this kind of life. Maybe he's part of another entirely.

He shows you one day, the life he's from. His ship is a blue box that turns into a glorious golden palace. It's huge, so much larger than Serenity, and different. There's the same feeling, though. Of warmth, of love, of acceptance.

"Where would you like to go?" the man asks. The Doctor, he tells you his name is. Not _a_ doctor, like Simon, but _the_ Doctor. He's special. You don't think twice about going with him (or, you do, you think lots, but none of those thoughts ever say 'don't').

You sit on a chair that's not quite as comfortable as the one on the bridge but still alright and say, "Somewhere different. Take me somewhere else."

The Doctor grins and bounces around the console in the middle (it's the console, not the bridge like in Serenity). He flips switches at random like you do and his ship starts to fire up. It talks, out loud. Serenity only talks in your mind. But maybe the Doctor doesn't listen when his ship talks in his mind.

You end up on Earth-that-was, in a place called London, five hundred years ago. It's the 21st century, the Doctor tells you. You walk the streets, marvelling at the sights and sounds. You don't remember much about your home planet in the Core, only little flashes now and then of a life when things were simple (they probably never were, but you like to think it). London is like that, a bit. There are cars (though they don't hover) and people. Millions of people, all bustling around. Pushing and shoving. Loud, rude, all their thoughts and futures coming rushing at you. You don't like it. It gets too loud, too big, too scary. Your hands come up over your ears and there's a scream building in your throat.

The Doctor takes you back to his ship, where she welcomes you. It's warm inside and there's just the three of you. You sit on the not-as-comfortable chair with your hands in your lap and the Doctor stands at the console (his place) looking at you, but he doesn't say anything. Your voice's been scared away, so you don't either.

Later, when you still haven't moved from your spot but the Doctor has stopped looking at you, you say, "I want to try."

The Doctor isn't like the others. Not like Simon, who tries so very hard but never quite gets it, or like Kaylee, or Mal. When you speak, he understands, he never has to ask you to explain again. You wonder if it's because he's like you, too. If when he speaks, no one hears a word he says. It's not because they don't understand, it's because they haven't learnt to listen. But they don't know that yet. In time they'll learn, and then they'll know, but in the meantime you're left to your own devices.

Now the Doctor nods and you both end up at the door. This time, though, before you step out, he takes your hand. There's a strange spiralling feeling ("I can feel it. The turn of the earth. The ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and the entire planet is hurtling around the sun at 67000 miles an hour. And I can feel it. We're falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world, and if we let go…") but it's soothing instead of jarring. He opens the door and you step into the sunlight. There are people, thousands of them, but there's also you, and there's also him, and you're separate from them. You're different. And with him that's okay.

You travel with him, you're not sure for how long. He takes you to see the stars like you've seen only in your dreams. He shows you things you've only ever seen in your mind, not with your eyes. There are some things you've never seen before, too. Those are the ones you like best, when he manages to surprise you, completely and fully. It becomes a game. "I thought we'd go to the year five billion," he'll say, "see the sun explode," and you'll either nod or shake your head and then you'll set off or he'll try again.

Often times you like to just sit in his ship, not go out. The Tardis, he calls her. ("T-A-R-D-I-S. Time and Relative Dimensions In Space.") You like her. She's nice. She sings you to sleep when you're in bed at night and whenever you start to feel homesick, she nudges you gently and reminds you you're not alone. You miss Serenity, desperately sometimes. The Tardis is the Doctor's ship, Serenity is yours, but it's just like taking a holiday, and you know you'll be back to her soon enough, so you don't let it worry you.

You get into lots of trouble with the Doctor. It's almost as if it seeks him out; he seems to find it wherever he goes. You don't mind it, though. It's exhilarating. Simon never lets you do this kind of stuff (you miss Simon, too, and you know he'd be worried about you, if he knew, but he's got Kaylee now). You run a lot, and sometimes you fight. The Doctor won't use guns, he's not like Mal. He has a sonic screwdriver that he uses to open doors so the two of you can escape. You don't tell him that you could take them all out in seconds with your eyes closed. You think he knows anyway.

You're sitting in the main room one day. The Tardis hums quietly, just loud enough to let you know she's there without being intrusive. You lie on the floor while the Doctor sits in the not-as-comfortable chair. You're watching him and he's watching you. There's something off about the Doctor. You noticed it from the time you first met him. There's a darkness to him, much like the darkness in you. He tries to hide it behind a large smile and witty banter (you don't hide yours well; when it wants to come out it does, you can't stop or control it). You're not thinking when you start to speak.

"You've lost so many people, so many friends, family, loved ones. Seen worlds destroyed in the blink of the eye and destroyed them yourself."

The Doctor doesn't start at your words, nor does he look confused at how you know them. You both know far too much. "And you've lost your mind," he says in reply. "Or rather, had it stolen. You see things that don't exist, and things that do, and things that might."

You sit up now. There's an idea that sparks in the back of your mind, ready to be fulfilled. "Simon tries to make me better. He gives me everything he can think of, to take it all away. But none of it works. He still has a crazy sister. He wants me better, they all do." You look at him, beseechingly. "Can you make me better? Can you fix me?" Your voice becomes hysterical as you continue. "I'm broken, a million tiny pieces that no one can put back together because half of them are lost, but they're not gone, if you look hard enough you can find them. You can put them back together, and it might never make a proper whole again but it'll make something better than I am now." Suddenly you want this, desperately. You want him to take away these horrible visions and this skewed view of the world. You want to be a normal girl, you want to feel the sun on your skin and know it's going to last.

The Doctor moves and suddenly he's beside you. You're rocking back and forth but he forcibly grabs your hand. "No," he says. "I can't." You start to cry, because _why not?_ but his hand is gripping yours, tighter and tighter. "I can't fix you, River,"—is that the first time he's used your name? You're not sure, it might be or it might not—"because you're not broken. You may not be whole, but that doesn't mean you're broken, it just means there's a bit missing. That bit's gone forever, but without it you're still River Tam. You're still you and you can't be anyone else."

You still cry, but you're not that sad anymore. Finally there's someone who understands. He makes it better without even meaning to. The Tardis comforts you, and you let her, but you miss Serenity now. You miss Simon, and Kaylee, and Mal and Jayne and Inara and Zoe and the dinosaurs on the top of the bridge and the meals around the table with the crew.

The Doctor bounds around the console of his ship. "Where to now?" He's grinning, and there's the sadness and loss behind his eyes. You'll let him hide it, if that's what he likes. You won't hurt him anymore.

"Home," you say. "I'd like to go home."

He doesn't say anything, just nods and twists a knob on the console. The Tardis groans, extra loud this time, because she doesn't want to you to go. You have to, though. Serenity is your ship, the Tardis belongs to the Doctor. You don't have to say goodbye to him with words. Your minds connect. He understands, he always does, and he sees you off with a smile and a thank you.

You step out of the Tardis to find the crew playing ball in the cargo bay. It's been no more than a day for them. They stop and turn to you when you step out.

"River, where did you go?" Simon asks.

"I went to see the stars," you tell them.

They nod and sneak sideways glances at each other. They don't understand, not yet. But times are changing and you can feel, in your bones, that one day soon, they will. For now you know that, somewhere off in time and space, is one man who, when he looks at you, he sees a person, not just a piece of one.


End file.
